Close Quarters
by Lala Kate
Summary: Being thrown together can have its consequences.
1. Chapter 1

_This ficlet grew out of a series of drabble prompts sent to me on tumblr. I do hope you enjoy this little tale. :) I own no part of Downton Abbey, but I love it so very much. _

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><p>"I hope you're enjoying your evening, Mary."<p>

His words elicit a response they shouldn't, and she draws in a fortifying breath before turning to face him head-on.

"I am, thank you," she hums, feeling the flash in his eyes speed across every nerve. "And you, Charles?"

He shrugs and steps towards her, making her take two steps back before deciding to hold her ground.

"I've had better," he replies, the scent of him teasing her thighs.

"I should have known you'd take on the role of the Grinch," she quips, smirking as his face acknowledges her challenge.

"It is a burden I must bear," he grins, making her wonder if he has sprung a trap of which she is unaware. " Perhaps you can help me with my dilemma. All I need is a healthy dose of good will for your fellow man."

He touches his lips suggestively, his dimples beckoning her closer. God, should she kiss the man or slap him?

Why is this even a question?

"You're unbelievable," she retorts, feeling hot in places she tries to ignore. "I came here tonight with Tony."

He dares a glance over her shoulder, dropping his eyes back to hers.

"I know. But I'm hoping you'll leave with me."

Her gaze widens incredulously, and she opens her mouth to speak, only to find it muffled by the pressing of his lips to hers. Nipping, tugging, pulling tingles up from her core that snake through veins with a speed that should be illegal. His tongue is playing games with her, making her an offer that hardens her breasts, promising her things that make her knees feel like jello.

"How dare you?"

Her question is no more than a heavy breath that tickles his neck, the rise and fall of her chest giving away far more than she would like.

"Christmas spirit, Mary," he grins, making her feel dizzy. "You are standing under the mistletoe, you know."


	2. Chapter 2

Why in God's name had her sister invited him in the first place?

Sybil knows how much Mary dislikes the man, how she has been methodically avoiding him since he kissed her at the Christmas party, how he always drives her to distraction until she can't think straight.

But he's here…just upstairs…at Sybil and Tom's New Year's Eve Party. This is no coincidence—of this she is certain.

Damn it all to hell.

She slides further back into the storage closet, attempting to find the particular cooler neither her sister nor Tom can seem to locate.

"Fancy meeting you here."

She turns quickly, knowing who it is by the sound of his voice and the tingling sensation speeding up her neck.

"Following me again, Charles?" she questions, staring at him as hard as she can.

"I'm sorry to disappoint you, Mary, but your brother-in-law sent me down to fetch some extra chairs."

He looks entirely too please with himself, and the closet's tight quarters make her tight in places she'd rather not think about.

"They're in the back," she points out, not budging from her position. "But you'll have to wait your turn."

"I can be very patient when I have to be," he grins, that blasted grin making her want to claw his eyes out and kiss the hell out of him at the same time. How does he do this to her?

A click sounds behind them, and she catches her breath, pushing past him and jiggling the door frantically.

"You didn't prop it open!" she accuses, the panic in her eyes unmistakable.

"And…" he prompts. "It's just a door, isn't it?"

"Just a door that locks from the outside, you idiot," she fires back, banging with a fervor she's certain no one can hear. The music is too loud, the upstairs too crowded, and no one would journey down here unless either Sybil or Tom sent them purposely.

Unless Sybil or Tom sent them purposely….

Bloody hell. Bloody, bloody, hell.


	3. Chapter 3

They've been forgotten. She's certain of it.

She had pounded and yelled until her fists hurt, only to find him sitting down casually, shoes and jacket off, watching her every move, making her much too aware of him.

She is always too aware of him.

Minutes later she finally joins him, abandoning her heels as the temperature begins to creep towards stifling.

"Damn the lack of airflow in this closet," she murmurs under her breath, his amusement at their situation crawling under her skin.

"We might as well make the most of it," he muses with a shrug. "There is food in here, you know. Things could be worse."

"You're such a man," she scoffs.

His chuckle vibrates against her as he eyes her like a lover.

"So glad you noticed." His grin is just wicked, his mouth too damn close. "Do you think they've forgotten us completely?"

She looks at him now, at the sweat on his forehead, at the sheen on his neck.

"It certainly seems like it, doesn't it?"

He shrugs at her answer before tugging off his tie. It is followed by his shirt, and she sighs and shakes her head in his direction.

"Are you comfortable now?" she asks, secretly admiring the view, wondering how it would feel to be pressed against him.

"More comfortable than you are," he returns, tossing her a challenge she tries to ignore.

This man drives her insane in too many places.

"That dress can't be comfortable," he observes, just as the fabric makes her itch yet again. "Especially in this heat."

"Are you suggesting I take it off?" she tosses back with a quirk of her brow.

"I think you're the one who suggested it, actually," he states. "Although I would have no problem with it if you did."

He is daring her—she knows it. And she's never been one to back down from a dare.

She can't help but laugh, tired of the effort it takes to stay angry at him, especially when she can't even remember why she was in the first place. She stands up, sliding a strap off her shoulder, watching his eyes darken, feeling his response everywhere. He stares at her wordlessly as her garment comes down little by little, finally hitting the floor and leaving her in her slip.

"Now who's more comfortable?" she quips, trying to control uncorked urges speeding everywhere.

No use.

He stands, nudging against her, front to front, almost on top of her, his breath brushing her lips, his fingers toying with her strap. She grabs him, pulling his mouth to hers, tugging at his lips, opening hers for exploration as she tastes him in full. Then his mouth strays to her neck, her shoulder, her chest, and her fingers map his torso, absorbing texture, feeling hard muscle, wanting to move down even more.

"Happy New…"

They freeze, feeling a dozen pairs of eyes on them as a shocked silence hits them hard. Sybil stands gaping in the doorway, Tom is flushed, and guests openly gawk behind them. Mary buries her face into Charles's chest, torn between laughter and utter mortification.

"Do you mind?" Charles breathes, pulling her closer, not giving her a chance to flee.

"Sorry," Tom stammers, clearly embarrassed as he shoos everyone away. "Don't mind us. We'll come back later."

"Much later," Charles clarifies, hearing the closet door click shut, locking them in yet again.

"Now—where were we?"

He nudges her chin up, making sure she's still with him.

"I believe your mouth was right here," she hums, touching the base of her neck, sighing into him as they drop to the ground.


End file.
